


Petersburg

by macabremusic



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Fluff and Smut, IM IN PAIN, Light Angst, M/M, Sort Of, car sickness, except it's not in a car so idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabremusic/pseuds/macabremusic
Summary: Dolokhov goes to visit Anatole in Petersburg-Not canon compliant-Not historically accurate either-I'm not actually sure what happens to them after the musical-All I know is that Anatole left for Petersburg1 warning for general angst, suicidal idealization, and alchohol usage/abuseON HIATUS- Probably won't be completed (really sorry about that :( .....)
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin
Kudos: 4





	1. Dolokhov decides

The bar was dimly lit. Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov was inside the bar. This wasn't exactly unusual, except he had spent quite a lot of time in bars after Anatole's leave. 

He didn't like to talk about it. It wasn't like it mattered too much to him. 

  


And he and Anatole did still correspond. Often. Nearly every day. 

The first ones he'd been angry. He **told** Anatole that it would end like this, but did he listen? 

Of course he didn't. He's Anatole. 

  


The bar was dimly lit. Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov was inside the bar, slumped against the back wall like a drunkard, with a bottle in his hands that he hadn't paid for. He wasn't even sure what was in it. 

He needed to go home. He had made friends (sort-of-friends, more like drinking buddies) with Balaga. Surprisingly, he was almost always available to drive him places, and had taken to coming with him to places like this. 

Dolokhov wasn't sure why. 

The reason was because he had progressively gotten worse with this drinking habit of his, had gotten more aggressive to the point where even Balaga was concerned. 

One day, when it had been particularly bad, Balaga had managed to get out of him the real reason as to why he was acting this way. He had his suspitions before then, that his friend was a little _too_ focused on the little correspondence. 

He missed Anatole. 

It didn't shock him. He had seen how close the two were. Dolokhov had done so much for the man, he probably felt unappreciated. 

  


So this day, he'd bring him home (again). But this time, he had a suggestion. 

"Well, if you miss him so much, why not go visit? I doubt he could be that comfortable either." 

Dolokhov thought about it. Mulled over it in his bed, staring at the ceiling late into the night. Yes, he decided. I'll go. 


	2. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolokhov writes some letters and schedules his visit. 
> 
> No warnings necessary

The letter Dolokhov wrote to Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin on December 17th, 1813 read: 

_Anatole,_

_I am writing to ask a question that I hope you will receive with positivity. It has been getting rather lonely here in Moscow, and while I hope you don't mind me saying this, you must be lonely too, so near to the holidays. I figured I could visit for a week or so. If you would like, I'll attempt contacting Helene to join me. I think she has been taking some time away from Pierre._

_I look forward to your response._

_-F.I. Dolokhov_

The letter Anatole wrote in response to Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov on December 19th, 1813 read: 

_Fedya,_

_Of course you can come up for the holidays. I'll arrange the train ride and prepare a guest room. Do you need money? And no, I take no offense to the notion that I am lonely. You are right, in fact. Also mon cher, there's no need to be so formal. Yes, ask my sister if she'll come. I haven't had guests in quite a while._

_How are you? Is your mother doing well? Say hello to Juliya for me the next time you see her. One day she can come here and I'll teach her violin like I promised. I await your arrival._

_-A.V. Kuragin_

Everything was prepared, and on the early morning of December 21st, 1813, Dolokhov boarded the train that would take him to his best, and only, friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting used to posting on here, just realized that notes only show up on one chapter and aren't permanent. My point with the nicknames still stands. 
> 
> Also, I'm on a computer, so the accents on Helene's name aren't possible.
> 
> This is a really short chapter


	3. Trains and Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train ride to Petersburg   
> Aka: Anxiety fest
> 
> Warning for explicit mentions of anxiety, alcohol use

Anatole had paid for the train, so that was a plus. His surmount of money allowed Dolokhov to ride comfortably, and have access to several glasses of wine which he used to calm his nerves. Unfortunately, he was eventually cut off. This wasn't so bad, he was aware that the alcohol wouldn't last the whole trip anyway. His ability to sober up in a short amount of time was both a blessing and a curse. 

He leaned back against his seat. There was an older woman across the isle from him, who regularly glanced back at him with disappointment and mild disgust. While he couldn't bring himself to care, he guessed it was for good reason. He couldn't charm people with good looks and a smirk. He didn't think himself attractive, what with his scars and generally rough appearance. It didn't bother him all that much, it was just another reason to look up to Anatole.

Anatole. 

What if the trip was not all that he had been hoping for? What if they see each other and there's a layer of awkwardness, a reminder of what had happened. Or what if it's just never mentioned, what happened between them. Dolokhov had come to a very startling conclusion long ago. He would do nearly anything for Anatole, no matter how much it hurt. 

He remembered their last meeting, just before the failed elopement. Anatole was pacing the room and he was trying to convince him not to go through with it. His shirt was unbuttoned. It somehow made him look even more attractive. They had fought. Dolokhov had attempted to make it up to him just before they left with Balaga. Something in him just needed to kiss him one last time. 

He wondered if they could do that again. They used to, often. He wanted to. It dug at him inside, just how much he wanted to kiss and touch Anatole. It nearly consumed him, sometimes it was all he could think about. He'd lay in bed, just thinking about him. It was probably unhealthy. 

The train lurched to a stop, and Dolokhov nearly hit his head on the window. The woman got up, shaking her head at him one last time, and got off the train. The boy at the front yelled the next stop. Petersburg. He leaned his head against the seat once more. 


	4. Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolokhov arrives in Petersburg. Anatole is excited to see him. 
> 
> 1 warning for nausea and blacking out.

He got off the train, sat on a bench near the stop, and took out the letter containing instructions on where they would meet. He picked up his suitcase and began walking to the corner (with some difficulty, and asking around) where Anatole and a troika would be. 

The air was cold, and light snow was falling on the paper, and his clothes. He hoped Anatole's place was warm. 

He reached the stop and looked around. There he was. 

Dolokhov hadn't even realized how much he missed being able to see Anatole. In person. Being able to see him, and really know he was really there, was more than enough. Even **if** it wouldn't be the same. And he looked **good** too. Really good. He wanted to- 

"Oh there you are Fedya. It's this one over here." He hadn't even noticed Anatole walking up to him, to point to the carriage, and guide him to it. They got inside. It felt very, very nice to have Anatole right next to him, so be able to reach out and- 

"Yes?" Anatole asked. He must have actually touched his shoulder then. "Nothing." His face flushed with embarrassment. 

"Well, I hope you'll like it here. Helene was unable to come?" Anatole asked. _Shit._ Dolokhov hadn't even thought about telling Helene that she was invited. "She said I should write her once I got there, she needed to think about it." He said, hoping Anatole would buy into the lie. 

The ride to Anatole's large estate was long, and the roads were windy. The anxiety from the train ride evolved into a queasy sort of feeling. He felt as though he would throw up. His head felt light, but not in a peaceful way. More like a muffled feeling of right before your ears pop. 

Anatole grabbed his arm to steady him. "You alright there Fed?" "I.... I don't know. Can you get it to stop?" "The carriage?" "Uhh.." 

Then the world went black. 


	5. Petersburg Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolokhov wakes up (he gets around to feeling better, just wait ;) ) 
> 
> Warning for medicine and mentions of alcohol abuse

He woke up in a bed. The first thing he noticed was Anatole looming over him, saying something that sounded muffled, as though he were under water. 

"I said, are you alright?" He could hear. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine." He sat up, rubbing his head and looking around the room. His winter coat was hanging on a bed post. Anatole looked relieved. He had taken his own coat off, and was only wearing a white button shirt and slacks. _Oh don't you dare get excited right now._ He thought to himself. He managed to push down his ever-there lust for him.

"I figured you had a bit too much to drink on the train." Anatole shook his head. "I shouldn't have let them give you the wine." Oh. So it **was** the alcohol. 

"You have to stop ruining yourself." "I am fine Tolya. Stop worrying." He insisted. Anatole looked surprised at the childish nickname. He remembered how he used to call him that, in very private and intimate situations. His face flushed yet again. "Alright then." Anatole moved off out of sight. 

"Are you coming? I made tea." 

Hot tea happened to be exactly what he needed in the cold winter. "I'll get stationary, we'll write my sister." He walked to a small closet on the other side of the dining room. 

"I assume you don't want Pierre here?" He asked loudly. "I mean, no, but if he wants to come I can't stop him." Dolokhov shrugged. "No, no he won't come if you don't want him to. I'm not treally friends with him or anything. If I'm honest, he's only good for is money." 

"I don't have much money, you know. Why are you friendly to me?" He apparently wondered this aloud, because he could hear an answer. "What do you mean? I'm friends with you because you're fun to be friends with, mon cher. Plus, we've known each other forever. It would be odd to use you for something. I am not that shallow a person." 

"Oh."

And they began writing Helene. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the chapters being so short, I'm in class atm (online band)


	6. Letters Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys write Helene. 
> 
> No warnings on this one.

Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov's letter to Elena Vasilyevna Kuragina goes as follows: 

_Helene,_

_I am writing from Anatole's estate to invite you over for the holidays. Please pretend I already wrote to ask you and this is just the confirmation letter. Please. I'm begging you at this point._

_I maybe already told Anatole that you were coming because I don't think I could stand to be here alone. As much as I like your brother, he can get annoying. And don't bring Pierre. That would be_

_extremely awkward and I don't want Christmas to be ruined._

_Merry Christmas,_

_F.I. Dolokhov_

Elena Vasilyevna Kuragina's response letter to Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov goes as follows: 

_Fyodor,_

_Obviously I'll go. I was already planning on making a trip anyways. Pierre is upstate with family, so he's out of the picture. Tell me, does my brother have wine? Also, yes, I do agree that he is_

_quite annoying. I just hope you can stand him for two more days. Don't worry, you can count on me. (Also, Anatole has been constantly complaining about how he doesn't get to see you as often._

_Make it up to him, eh?_

_Merry Christmas,_

_Helene K._

And Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin's letter to Elena Vasilyevna Kuragina reads: 

_Dear sister,_

_I do hope Dolokhov hasn't bothered you with the letters. You will come then? He has arrived here safely, everything is going smoothly. We do request that Pierre is not present, what with the_

_incident between him and Fedya. I am glad he is here. It has become rather stifling here alone._

_I hope to see you soon,_

_Anatole. K._

Elena Vasilyevna Kuragina's letter to Anaole Vasilyevich Kuragin reads: 

_Brother,_

_I already received his letter, don't worry it didn't bother me. I am glad you have company, it is important nowadays. Be sure not to bore him to death after he already recovered from a gunshot_

_wound, in his letter he complained! I would take it lightly though, he seems to be enjoying himself.* Yes, I will come. I've already planned for my departure tomorrow. I wrote back to Dolokhov,_

_my husband is with family._

_Later,_

_Helene K._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ;)


	7. One day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolokhov spends the day waiting and worrying.   
> Anatole is there to help. (slight smut? idk. Vague terminology, flowery language, nothing too explicit) 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of the failed abduction, deep regret and mentions of alcohol abuse

One day. It was only one day. 

He only had to spend one whole day alone with Anatole. He could do this. He could do this! 

_Why am I freaking out now? It's not like we've never spent the day together before._ They had indeed spent many, many days together. Nights, too. But everything seemed a bit different now. 

Hell, Dolokhov wasn't even sure Anatole actually liked him! He could just be using him for sex, and he'd never know. 

Or he would, if he had the courage to ask. 

Now, he was sitting on the couch in the parlor (which was a worn pink color, and made him feel like a stranger in an old woman's house.) Anatole was putting rosin on the fine bow to his violin. 

Curiously, Fyodor had always wanted to play an instrument. At least, he had as a kid. He'd never gotten the chance; he grew up too quick, moved out, and joined the military. He hadn't even dreamed of it since his father's death. 

Oh, Anatole was starting to play something. Dolokhov figured he should look like he was doing something, as it would be pretty weird to sit on someone's couch simply watching them. 

Or maybe his friend preferred it? He **did** like to be the center of attention most of the time, and what better thing to do then show off his talents. 

It sounded good. He kept messing up on a part that must have been particularly tricky. Dolokhov went to the cupboard to hang up his coat, then walked over and patted him on the shoulder. 

He wasn't sure what he was doing. It wasn't like he knew how to play the violin. Anatole jumped a bit at the sudden feeling. 

"Uh.. my father used to play. You... you sound good. Why's that part so hard?" 

"It's a glissando. I'm not the best at glissandos." He looked defeated, but tried again. 

This time, with the knowledge that Dolokhov was actually paying attention, he did not mess up. He usually played better when someone was watching anyway, but this time it wasn't the pressure that spurred him, it was Dolokhov. Just the notion that Dolokhov was there. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man. They were friends, yes, but he craved something more than that.

They went up the stairs afterwards, first in the library, then in his bedroom. 

Why was he nervous? He was Anatole Kuragin, he wasn't inexperienced! Hell, they'd done this before several times! 

And he'd missed it. He'd missed kissing him, he's missed touching him, he missed laying next to him and just having him there. 

And he'd regretted it. He'd heard his friend's shouting to him, yelling for him to come back. As soon as he'd seen the look on his face, the last time he'd seen the face before this visit, he'd regretted it. It ate at him inside ever since. 

Dolokhov hadn't dealt with it very well either. Alcohol had been his escape. Wine, vodka, anything he could get his hands on. He had tried smoking, like they did when they were younger, but just ended up coughing and hacking until someone had brought him home. He couldn't remember who. He liked to think it was Anatole. 

The bed was soft, softer than the one Dolokhov had at home. They laid down. He could see where it was going. He didn't mind. 

Anatole took it slow. Began by kissing him, lips warm and firm, kissing bruises down his neck. His shirt was then removed, the skin underneath it sweaty and pale. Not as pale as Anatole, what with his fair hair and eyes and body. 

It felt good. Unholy, but so good. Like he was finally being satisfied. 

Finishing felt good as well. Dirty, but good. As if he could forget what happened between them and go back to the days of Anatole shoving him up against some wall and undoing his belt. 

As if he wanted nothing more. 

He wanted nothing more. 


	8. Hélène

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hélène arrives in time for Christmas.  
> -fluff. lots and lots of fluff.  
> -Fedya is touch starved
> 
> Also this is the last chapter because I'm starting to get less motivated to write.
> 
> Warning for mentions of scars (not self harm)

They were making tea before dinner when there was a knock on the door. _Hélène._

She entered the room in all her glory. _Truly the queen of society._ Dolokhov smiled to himself at the memory of the opera. He had forgotten to inform the servant on how to announce him, but that was alright. It did leave a more friendly impression then he intended to have. He did not look for friends. It was the reason he didn't have many, any he didn't mind that. He knew maybe three people at most that would look past his mean demeanor and cold outlook on life. Two of them were in the room. 

The other one was family. 

So two, really. 

Hélène and Anatole were talking animatedly. "Well why don't we ask him then!" He could hear Hélène's argument. "Fyodor!" 

He jumped a little at the use of his proper name, which sounds weird but everyone called him Dolokhov or Fedya (and close to no one called him Fedya.) "Jesus christ Hélène, what?" 

"Do you take one sugar or two in your tea?" "Weird question but two, if you must know." 

He picked up a book from the table. It was one he used to see on the shelves of his father's study. He could vaguely hear Hélène giving a triumphant shout in the background. 

"Are you alright Fed?" Anatole sounded concerned. "I'm alright. Now, I wonder what Hélène has been up to?" 

She described Moscow, how Pierre had taken more and more time away from home, how she had ran into Marya D in a shop, how the woman stared at her with hatred. Everything was pretty much the same, he guessed. Balaga had asked after him. Surprisingly, so had Pierre. Apparently it was to see if he had fully recovered. He supposed he had. Physically, at least. 

Anatole still looked concerned.

Dolokhov would have to suck it up then. He would not ruin the holiday season with his moping and dismal outlook on the world. 

They ate dinner soon after, laughed and talked about what they would do tomorrow. "I'm afraid I have to leave after lunch tomorrow." He had asked why.

"Previous arrangements." Was her answer. She had also winked at him, which was confusing as they hadn't slept together in months. He didn't have the energy, or the time, or the need anymore. But now he had Anatole, which might help. 

Once they'd eaten dessert and were thoroughly exhausted, he offered the guest room to Hélène. "I can sleep down here" -He had said'- "like a personal guard or something." 

She had taken it, which did make his heart sink a little, but he had made his bed of roses and now felt obligated to lay in it. 

The couch was not comfortable. In fact, it was far less comfortable than the wooden bench he had ridden on to get here. He was saved by a tired Anatole, who invited him back upstairs. 

"Just sleep in my room, it's fine." 

It was more than fine. Dolokhov felt more comfortable than he had in years laying there next to Anatole. _His_ Anatole. 

They didn't talk much, just kissed each other lightly. Anatole wrapped his arms around Fedya's chest, and the embraced man nearly cried.

It was so much different than the nights he was used to. Cold. Alone. In the dark. 

Anatole was a star in a world full of nightlights. Something that looked close, yet so far out of reach. 

And Fedya was being loved. He hadn't been loved like this.. ever. He had never been loved like this. Never been touched so softly. 

Anatole traced nimble fingers along the scars on his sides and chest. While Dolokhov's hands were worn and scratched and dry from the cold winters, with scrapes and scabs and scars, Anatole had softer hands, able to move quickly and almost calloused from his violin. 

And he slept soundly, for the first time in his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I am not sure what happens to either of them (except I know how Anatole dies), especially Dolokhov. 
> 
> Also I'm gonna put this here since I was also confused when I first read Great Comet fics. I headcannon (more for Dolokhov), that he doesn't really let a lot of people use the nickname. ('cept Anatole (aww))
> 
> -Fedya is a diminutive of Fyodor  
> -Tolya is a diminutive/nickname for Anatole


End file.
